


Fragments of a Sovereign

by QueenLadle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Dom Loki (Marvel), Dubious Consent, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, King Loki, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Slavery, Smut, nice Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-01-29 14:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenLadle/pseuds/QueenLadle
Summary: It is a honour to be called to serve in the King’s court. A lowly slave may be exalted to a live of luxury, if only they may survive it.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Original Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 132





	1. Chapter 1

The house looked modest in size, and although you wouldn’t go as far to say that it was run-down, there hadn’t been any special effort to properly maintain the street-facing facade, giving it the same unassuming look as its neighbours. The everyday passerby wouldn’t give it a backwards glance.

Forseti retrieved from the pocket of his cloak, a piece of paper with an address written in eloquent script. He checked it once, looked at the iron number plate and with a confirmatory nod, slipped his hand back in his pocket and swapped the note for a paper envelope, bearing an elaborate seal in a vivid green. He then looked up and down the quiet street once before he rapped smartly on the plain wood.

A few moments later the door opened a crack, and a balding, round face peered at him through the few inches of space in the doorway.

“Hello,” the voice was gruff, wary.

“You are known as Drian?”

“Who’s asking?”

“We have recently been in correspondence,” Forseti held out the envelope, “I trust this is satisfactory?”

The man—Drian, if Forseti was correct about his identity—snatched the envelope through the door and turned his back to it. Forseti could see him reading the contents in the shadows of the house.

The door was opened wide 10 seconds later, a grin taking up the whole half of Drian’s face. Perhaps the smile was meant to be hospitable, but it reminded Forseti a little too much of the carved squashes he had seen on Midguard, a popular way of decorating for one of their quaint Autumnal holidays, or so he had heard.

“My apologies sir,” Drian’s tone had turned servile, if not simpering, “I have to consider the safety of those I house here. I’m sure you are aware of those crazed revolutionaries who oppose the trade.”

While he was speaking he had led the visitor through a door into what Forseti assumed was the heart of the house. Emerging from the dimly-lit foyer, he was momentarily blinded by the bright colours of the room; every surface seemed to be adorned in glitter and gilt, a faux luxury tackiness that was common occurrence in places like Elmside.

“Of course,” Forseti nodded, and let his cloak be taken by a scantily-clad brunette, bowing her head subserviently and fluttering her lashes up at him.

“Was there anything else you wanted sir?” Her voice reminded him of a female he had purchased on behalf of his master some 150 years ago, and he had to train himself to keep the polite smile on his face, despite the knee-jerk need to wince at the grating high-pitch.

He relayed his denial and she nodded and stepped away, presumably to hang up his cloak somewhere.

“We have the pick of suitable girls here,” Drian said, leading the way to a pair of golden leather sofas, “—it was a girl you wanted?”

“A woman, yes.”

“Ah, yes, yes, a woman. Do sit down, refreshments will be served while I make preparations.”

Drian disappeared through a door on the right and Forseti was left to sink into the seat, the cushions sagging underneath him. Already he was feeling doubts about the expedition. Drian was like any other pimp he had met, and if they were all like the one that had taken his cloak, they would be unsuitable. His master tended to go for the bolshy types, but after a recent run where none of the women brought to him lasted a month, it was time for a change.

“I’m so terribly bored,” the king had pouted a few days ago, lounging on the chaise, “Go and find me someone new to play with.”

And so Forseti had sought out a new house to make a deal with (Not one in Elmside, as far as his master was concerned they were all cheap whores), a letter of interest was sent and now here he was, finding a new pet for the king.

Presently the door that Drian had exited was opened and a young woman stepped out, bearing a silver tray with glasses and a bottle. She bobbed a curtsy as she entered, then set the tray down on a dark wood coffee table and went about pouring the drink, a rich red wine into the two glasses.

Forseti studied her as she went about the work. The tight short purple dress she wore didn’t leave much for the imagination. Her hair was blonde, tied up in a bun and showing off her unadorned neck. When she was done she took up position in the corner of the room, hands clasped in front.

Forseti turned away from her when Drian returned, setting his portly self down on the adjacent sofa.

“We are ready.”

And so it began.

Forseti watched as one by one, the females entered through the door, walked in a circle then waited in front of him as he asked some questions. What was their name? (“Don’t give me her if her name is something ridiculous. I can’t perform if I have that to moan that every night,” his master had said.) What do you like to do in your free time? Why do you want to serve the king?

They were all the same. All the same simpering smiles. The same skimpy outfit. The same sycophantic rhetoric about how much they adored the king and would do absolutely anything for him.

Forseti took a tentative sip of the wine and grimaced. Just as he thought. An old trick. Ply the client with strong wine and drive a hard bargain. He waved over the slave in the corner.

“Sir?”

“You couldn’t get me a cup of tea could you?”

“Yes sir, of course,” she nodded and went out.

“Would you like to see one of the girls closer?” asked Drian, who had been scrutinising Forseti’s reaction to the line-up.

“No need. I can see perfectly well from here.”

“Of course,” Drian replied, though his smile was strained.

The woman returned a few minutes later with the silver tray, this time holding a china tea set with a burgundy and gold chevron pattern.

“What’s your name?” Forseti asked as she delicately poured the tea.

“Sylubelle, sir.” Pretty, if not a little whimsical.

“How long have you been here?” 

“300 years sir.” A long time, but some of them did start young. There were no laws against it, the poor sods. Though most of them were at least 16 before they started any carnal activities.

“So you are experienced?”

“Yes sir. I have been doing this a long time.”

Her voice was soft. Forseti was thankful for it, given that he would be the one kept up by their screaming in the middle of the night. He decided to press further, seeing that the tea was poured as she was straightening up the tray to ready her return to her post.

“If you were to serve the king, would you be willing?”

She looked up at this line of inquiry and Forseti noted her eyes, a pale shade of grey.

“Of course, but I do not believe I would have the honour.”

“You may well do.”

The woman named Sylubelle nodded. “Would that be all sir?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She bowed her head and retreated with the tray.

Drian, who had been watching the exchange with keen interest, asked

“Anything you like?”

“There may well be,” Forseti replied, taking a sip of his tea, “To confirm, they are all for sale?”

“Yes,” Drian’s smile was magnanimous, “One in particular has caught your eye?”

“Let us discuss after the show.” Tea first. Business later


	2. Chapter 2

The house had visits from the servants of rich households weekly. It had visits most nights, but those patrons could either only afford an infrequent visit, or else they were only passing through and weren’t looking for a committed companion. Always, when the servants came, the pleasure slaves would make a special effort to be chosen—the life of a pampered mistress was far more desirable than being kept as a whore of the house. The only other thing better was to be freed, but even though some of them established long relationships with the regular patrons, efforts to cajole them into giving them their freedom were made in vain.

There had been one that managed to escape, Mnemosyne, and when she sensed her patron, the son of a diplomat (“Oh he is such a conceited bore but he’s not too shabby in bed I suppose.”) was cooling on her, she started selling off the numerous expensive pieces of jewellery on the black market to earn enough money to secure her freedom. (Actually, any gifts exchanged rightly belonged to Drian, as the slaves did to him, but there was no way in Hel they were going to let him have them, hiding them under floorboards and in pillowcases and cutting holes in the heels of their shoes to fit something inside. One girl even held a pair of diamond earrings in her mouth for the duration of an inspection.)

Mnemosyne had sold the jewels bit by bit, and after three months, dumped a sack of gold coins on the table, keeping a tight fist on another sack behind her back. (No point escaping if you didn’t have the funds to get very far.)

“I’m leaving now. There’s 50 gold coins in that bag. You’d never get that much for me, I’m already 1500 now.”

Drian looked between the bag of coins and the kitchen knife that Mnemosyne was brandishing. Silently he pulled the bag of coins closer to him.

That was a hundred years ago and no-one had managed to pull off the same feat. Certainly not Sylbie, who wasn’t lucky enough to get the gifts that the other girls had, she was only a domestic slave, and so had not the chance for personal relations with the patrons. Hers was a tedious, wearisome existence. But it couldn’t last forever.

“Just one more day,” she repeated like a mantra, as she had done for the past 10000 days, wriggling out of the tight dress she had been forced to wear.

“I know you’re not what they want, but it’s for show. To get the customer excited,” Drian had insisted.

It was over now, so she could return to her faithful cotton dress that didn’t itch and gave her more coverage than the skimpy purple number. She sat on the edge of the thin mattress and listened to the excited chatter.

“I am going to be the king’s new favourite! So long!”

“I’m sure he was looking at me!”

“Beatrice he was only looking at you cause you make that face like a duck.”

“Oh shut up Selena.” A stiletto went flying across the room.

Sylbie smiled in spite of herself. They should be finishing up by now—the money always took a little while to sort out—and then the lucky person would be whisked away to a life of glitz and glamour. They had earned it, whoever they were.

The friendly banter in the room stopped when Drian walked in, smile triumphant, Everyone turned to him, waiting for their name to be called.

The tense silence was broken by the single utterance,

“Sylubelle.”

“Sylbie,” one of the girls muttered, “What they want Sylbie for.”

Perhaps the client wanted another drink. That must be it. The chatter resumed as Sylbie obediently walked over to Drian. He caught her by the arm when she got close enough and proceeded to drag her out of the door and through the corridors of the house.

“Come on girl, lucky day for us, look lively!”

“Master?”

“You’ve been chosen, well done.”

“Me master?”

“Who else am I talking to? Don’t let the king know you’re daft for norn’s sake,” Drian huffed as they hurried down the stairs.

“But...doesn’t the king want a pleasure slave? I’m not...”

“Yeah I know that but he doesn’t have to know that does he?”

“B-but...”

“You just keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. You’ve seen the other girls often enough. You know how it goes. And don’t you think of refusing, I’ll make sure you’re out on the street before sundown, do you hear?” The last part was said in a hissed whisper before they returned to the room where the king’s servant was waiting, cradling a what must be cold by now, teacup.

“Ah, there you are. Are you ready Sylubelle?” His smile was kindly.

Sylbie gave an obedient nod, but Drian, who had apparently only noticed her clothing now in the light of the room, had other ideas.

“Why did you change you stupid girl! The gentleman doesn’t want you like that! Go and put back on that—“

The servant waved his hand dismissively.

“No, no, this is fine. Does she have a cloak? The king will not be pleased if his new pet is delivered...unwell.”

“Of course, of course,” Drian replied, smile nearly splitting his face in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Darlings,
> 
> I have been quietly reading several of the Loki stories on this site and have immensely enjoyed everyone’s talent. I thought it was high time I gave my own offering. Actually this is different from my usual work which is normally highly emotional with a long-winded and convoluted plot. This is far more simplistic and shouldn’t be taken as anything other than a bit of good old-fashion self-serving escapism. It’s also the first time I’ve ever written anything quite so um, racy, so please bear with me. 
> 
> I should also note that this is not a work I’m prioritising as it’s more of a ‘light relief ‘from my main story I’m working on at the moment, (a different fandom) so updates will not be consistent. If I update lots you know I am stuck/procrastinating.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh thank you for all the kudos and comments. I’m not used to getting this much attention for my work, so I’m very pleased.

The ride back to the capital took two hours, Sylbie, dressed in a brown cloak taken from one of the other girls, seated in front of Forseti on his horse.

“Have you ever ridden before?”

At the shake of her head he replied,

“Well it’s quite easy you see. Just hold on to the reins, don’t pull out any of his hairs mind. Who knows, the king may teach you one day.”

This was very unlikely to happen, but Forseti thought it best to say something comforting, as the woman had taken on a rather somber demeanour since she was brought down to come with him.

“The king...will he be good to me?”

So that was it. He supposed she must have heard some of the rumours about the King’s nefarious activities. Half of them didn’t have an ounce of truth, but his master was rather fond of stirring up the hysteria that surrounded him. It amused him to pick the stories which were the most horrifying and make sure that they were whispered throughout the kingdom.

“I have heard tell in the kitchens they are saying I morphed into a wolf, chased my last whore out the palace, and ate her for dinner!” The king barked a laugh. “The thing these servants come up with. It’s all very funny, isn’t it Forseti?”

“Hilarious, sire.”

The king wasn’t fond of people putting paid to the rumours, it harmed his reputation (“What blasted reputation?” Forseti would say, but only very quietly.), however the poor girl looked absolutely petrified, so he decided it was the right thing to abate her fears.

“His majesty is a strict master, though he isn’t unkind. If you do as you are told, are honest, he will treat you well. If he is pleased with your service,” he added as an afterthought.

Sylbie nodded, “Yes, I will try my best to serve him.”

The rest of the ride was passed in silence. When they arrived at the palace Sylbie had no time to stop and marvel at its magnificence, for the servant quickly whisked her through corridors and up winding stairs. They must have gone some sort of back way for the few people they encountered looked to be servants and maid theirselves.

Eventually the corridors changed from the drab plain stone to plush carpeted floors and walls decorated in filigree patterned wallpaper and heavy brocade curtains framing golden windows. Then the servant took her through a pair of elaborately embossed doors and there they stopped.

“The cloak. Quickly.” Sylbie hurriedly unfastened it and placed it in the servant’s waiting hands.

He stepped back and looked her over for a moment in thought, then reached to the back of her head to take the pins from her hair, letting it spring loose over her shoulders.

“Don’t speak until spoken to. Don’t instigate anything, he’ll take the lead. Do what he says, quickly, without question.”

With these last ominous words of advice, Sylbie was left alone, to await her fate.

—

The king, when Forseti eventually found him, was playing tennis. It had come as a surprise, 50 years ago, when His Majesty announced his intention to introduce the Midgardian past-time to the royal court after one of his frequent ventures to the realm. Most Midgardian customs were looked on with superior disdain, something that would satisfy mere mortals was not fit for Asgardian royalty, but no-one was about to point out this hypocrisy to the king.

If it could be called playing tennis, for the king’s preferred version of the game did not involve scoring points against an opponent as per the usual rules, but to thwack the racket with a tremendous force and send the ball careening across the field. As far as they could get before encountering any obstacle that was. The healers had to be called in more than once for unfortunate individuals caught in the line of fire.

Forseti arrived just as the ball was sent flying away, to the cheers from the courtiers who had come to watch.

“Good show your majesty!” “Well done your majesty!” If the king felt he was not getting enough deserved attention, he would go into a what, in the politest terms, could only be described as a strop. It was a fate that everyone made steps to avoid.

Forseti stepped between the gaggle of simpering ladies that seemed to follow the king wherever he went, all overzealous waving of their hand fans and elaborate coiffures (One could remember when they were fawning over the king’s brother), and approached the king.

He grinned at Forseti, tossing and catching a ball in the air. “Ah! Forseti! Come for a game have you?”

Forseti gave a quick bow.

“As it please you sire. I have secured what you asked of me.”

“Have you. Where is she then?” The king made a great show of looking about him theatrically, “Is she some kind of sorceress that has mastered the art of invisibility?”

“In your chambers, sire.”

The king huffed a short breath. “After my game. I’ve not finished my fun here.”

—

Sylbie had not moved from her position since the king’s valet had left. The ride had not done any favours to her back, which was still aching from a punishment she’d endured three days ago. She would have liked somewhere to bathe, to wash away the dirt of her former home, but she had not been directed to any washroom facilities, and she was loath to go searching for them. So she remained where she was, eyes fixed on the door, studying the twisted vines and snakes wrought in silver, trying to distract herself from the growing fear in the pit of her stomach. It wouldn’t be too bad, she tried to console herself, the servant had said as much, she needed to only behave herself, do as the king wished. Whatever, he wanted... No, that just made her feel worse. He couldn’t treat her too badly though, slaves had some rights. Not a lot, but some. A few. Hardly any. He was the king. He could do whatever he wished and no-one would bat an eyelid.

Eventually, when her thoughts had worked her into a state of permanent fright, and she felt as if she would be kept on her own forever, left to wither away in the room, a voice from behind her brought her out of her stupor, causing her to jump about ten feet in the air. 

“Well you’re certainly different.”

Sylbie whirled around, took in the dark green attire, the raven black hair, and the terrifying, captivating smirk, and dropped to a curtsy, keeping her eyes trained on his polished boots. The seconds passed agonisingly slow, as the boots stepped towards her, and she prayed that her knees didn’t give way.

“You may rise.”

Sylbie took herself as gracefully as she could out of the curtsy, but her head remained pointed towards the floor.

“Chin up,” a finger was place underneath her chin, the pressure it exterted firm, but not quite painful, “I want to see you.”

She let him guide her head as he desired, and was face to face with a vision of sculpted marble. Sylbie had heard tales of the king's good looks, and although she knew that power affects people’s perception, she was prepared at least, for someone quite handsome. She hadn’t expected him to be breathtakingly gorgeous. Fearing that her reaction would be improper, she averted her gaze and settled it upon a spot past his shoulder, of the black tassels of the curtain ties.

“Did I say you could look away? Look at me.”

The finger under her chin had lowered when she raised her head, but now, he grabbed her whole chin with his hand, and again, it was not painful, but she felt as if he could make it so easily. Her eyes met his, that sacred connection between slave and master, and in the blue of his gaze, the beat of her heat increased tenfold. She may have died right there on the spot from the intensity of it.

A sweet reprieve was granted when he moved his gaze downwards, brushing his thumb against her lips, tenderly, almost in the caress of a lover. She had kissed before at least. That wouldn’t be so bad. At least he hadn’t taken her over the nearest surface and ploughed his way in, as happened with the girls of the house. She was reminded that he still could, when his thumb moved down her neck and pressed into the hollow, causing a shiver to crawl up her spine. Whether he was pleased or angered by her reaction she did not know, for his expression remained imperceptible.

The thumb moved lower, lingering at her collar bones to rub back and forth once, and then down the cotton of her dress where he cupped a breast in his slender fingers and rubbed a nipple through the fabric. She did shudder them, her body moving in one giant shake, a culmination of all the tiny trembles she had made a concerted effort to conceal.

“My, you are sensitive.”

Yes, Sylbie thought, that smile was decidedly wicked.

His hand moved from her breast and then he stepped back, looking her up and down.

“What are you wearing?”

“My former master was kind enough to gift me these garments.”

The king raised an eyebrow. “Well, I will be kind enough to have you wear something else. I do not have my slaves wear rags.”

Sylbie dreaded what else he would have her wear, but outwardly, she nodded demurely.

“Yes master.”

He grinned at that, and moved to the chaise in the middle of the room, like the rest of the furniture, this midnight blue (she was surprised it wasn’t green) and blackened silver ornament would be enough to feed an entire village for a year. Sylbie dropped to her knees as he sat down, and watched as he reached a hand into his breeches, and took out his sex.

Sylbie stared at it. And it...that was meant to go inside her? How could it possibly... She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t do this at all. A voice in her mind screamed at her to run. Run and never look back. But her body remained fixed to the floor.

“Well go on then.”

When she didn’t move, his tone grew dark. “Stop playing coy, come on.”

Come on where? What was it that he expected her to do?

An invisible force pulled her towards him, her knees burning against the carpet. The force in his grip that she had speculated on earlier was apparent now, as his hands tugged on her hair to manoeuvre her and at her pained gasp, forced himself down her throat. Sylbie choked and spluttered on his length, her hands desperately pushing at him to let her go. When her movements grew more frantic as she struggled for air, he wrenched himself out of her mouth, his hardness slapping her in the face as she gasped for air, saliva dripping down her chin.

“You insolent whore! How dare you! Were you trained by a simpleton?! Were you even trained at all?!”

Sylbie, who was sobbing at this point, in fear and in shame, shook her head feebly, the begging apologies stuck in her throat.

“You haven’t,” he said flatly, comprehending her wordless shame.

A green mist and his clothes returned to their former pristine state. If Sylbie wasn’t so in shock she would have marvelled at his command of magic but she could only stay stock still as he knelt by her.

Seeing him sink down to her level, Sylbie tried her best to press herself into the carpet, folding herself so her face was touching the floor. She couldn’t be higher than the king.

“Ah ah, sit up.”

His hand went to her back and directed her upwards. “There we are now, breathe.” Sylbie thought it would be impossible for her to take another breath, but the hand on her back was oddly comforting, rubbing in small circles, as was the tenderness of his voice. “That’s it, that’s a good girl. There we are now, there there. Good girl.” The praise sent a thrill of something down her spine, but she was still too terrified to comprehend what.

When the worst of her sobs had abated, he again took her chin in his hand and again she was forced to look right at him.

“Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions and you will answer them truthfully. Do you understand?”

Sylbie nodded eagerly. Perhaps she wouldn’t be punished after all.

“Good.”

He moved behind her and placed both hands upon her, moving them up and down her sides.

“Did you lie to my valet? You told him you were trained?”

His fingers became claws, digging into her at her hesitation. “I only have so much patience pet.”

“He asked me if I had experience, but I—I thought he meant...”

His grip softened and he rubbed gently at the place where his nails had dug in.

“And your former master? What did he tell you? Did he promise you a cut?”

“He told me I had to go. Or he would leave me in the streets I—please...” Sylbie dissolved into loud sobs and cringed away from him.

He caught her by the shoulders, holding her upright in place.

“You are going to stop this crying. I am your master now. You will do as I say. Do you have experience, sexual, at all?”

“ I...” It was hard not to get distracted by the feel of his hands on her breasts, gently massaging them through her dress.

“Go on...”

“Well there was one time but I’m not sure whether it counts...”

He pinched a nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. “Tell me.”

“I kissed someone, it was around 500 years ago. On the farm.”

“And what else did you do with this farmboy?” His breath ghosted over her neck, “Beyond kissing?”

“Nothing master. We went on a picnic and we ate some of the—“

The king cut her off. “But you have done nothing else,” he paused to lick up her neck, stopping just underneath her ear, “sexually?”

“N-no master.”

“So you are a true virgin. Pure. Untouched. Untainted.” He accentuated his words with sucks at her neck, sending tingles to her nethers.

“You like that? You like how I make you feel pet?”

“Yes...”

“Yes...what?”

“Yes...” she gasped as he sucked hard at her neck, “master.”

“Good girl.”

“It’s been a long while since I’ve had a virgin,” he continued talking more to himself, “Maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. None of the experienced whores are this sensitive. You have yet to fall prey to irritating habits. I could teach you. I did pay 1000 gold for you. Of course, that money is forfeit to the crown, but even so...letting you go would be such a waste... “ to emphasise his point, the king pressed a finger to the place between her thighs rubbing through her underwear in small circles. Sylbie gasped at the stirrings of pleasure he was awakening in her.

The withdrawal of his hand had her eliciting a small whine.

“...unless you want to rot with your former master in jail.” He pressed a finger to a certain spot between her legs, causing Sylbie to spasm at the foreign feeling. “Well do you want to go to jail?”

“N-no master...please...”

His hand was once again withdrawn and the king stood up and waved his hand at her in a dismissive motion.

“We’re done. You can go.”

Sylbie stared. He wasn’t going to continue...whatever it was he was doing?

Again, was that captivating, beautiful, no, very, very wicked smile. “Oh, I will give you your pleasure, don’t you fret. I would never leave my pet so deprived. Not for too long anyway,” he smirked, “But for now, you can leave. I don’t need you hanging around my chambers all day.”

Sylbie shakily got to her feet, bowed her head and backed out the door, the king watching her intently all the while. When she eventually arrived in the hallway, she clutched the silver handle of the door and leaned against it, letting out a deep breath. She had survived her first encounter with the king. Now she only need survive the rest of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I did say it would be very slow updates didn’t I.
> 
> So I’m aiming towards more nice-ish Loki, okay he is Loki so eh, but I’ve read too many stories where he is perfectly horrid to oc, so hopefully he doesn’t treat Sylubelle too badly. And yes, I am very new to this kind of work so please have faith as I navigate it. It is only the beginning now but I am aiming to get a bit more spicy as the story progresses.
> 
> Have a wonderful new year darlings. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Sylbie stood for a moment, closing her eyes against the golden grandeur of the hallway, in an attempt to settle the loud buzz in her head, thoughts flying at her from all corners of her mind.

“Madam?”

She jumped, and opened her eyes to a man looking at her with concern. He was without a helmet, but judging from his armour, he must be one of the einjerhar soldiers. She supposed it was not good form to be loitering outside the king’s chambers, even if it was for half a second.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I was—“

“I’ve come to escort you to your chambers madam.”

“Oh...” Her chambers? Well it did make sense that she would have somewhere to sleep, especially since she wouldn’t be sharing with the king. Apparently Elinna’s whisperings that he kept his bedslaves chained to the foot of his bed were thankfully, false.

She was still half dazed as the soldier led her through the gilded halls, talking her through twists and turns. The route must be convoluted so she didn’t escape.

Finally, they stopped.

“Your chambers madam.”

Sylbie stood a while in the doorway, staring in awe at the sitting room, furnished in tones of cream and pink. It wasn’t as grand as the king’s chambers but they far outshone her former accommodation. 

“Madam? Are they not satisfactory?”

Satisfactory? He wanted to know if they were satisfactory? These chambers were fit for a princess, hardly a lowly slave such as herself.

“No, no , it’s fine. I—

“If that will be all madam?”

She nodded dumbly, and the soldier went away, shutting the door behind her and leaving her to explore what would apparently be her home, for whoever knows long. Her thoughts strayed a little, to the rumours that the king had a new favourite every week, and nothing was heard of the old ones after that. But it wouldn’t do to think upon things like that. This was going to be her life now, may as well get used to it. 

At least she would be able to spend her last days in luxury. Along side the sitting room, was a bedroom with a white wood four poster bed, and a wardrobe that housed about four fine gowns and slips to go under them. The bathroom was large, with a shower and marble basin and tubs. All very grand and splendid, the perfect gilded cage. What she loved most was the bright window that overlooked the gardens. They were absolutely vast, full of flowers and fountains and statues; spectacular, to say the least. A lifetime ago, she had run and played in gardens half as grand as these.

It took a knock at the door to pull her away from the view. She rushed to open it, and a young woman, dressed in a uniform of green and dark grey, brown hair pulled up into a bun, brushed past her, and slammed a tray of food down on the table.

She came and went so quickly that Slybie stood bewildered beside the door for a full minute after the woman left. 

What was she meant to do?

Was the food for her? Well it must be, it was in her room after all. Her room, ha, how could such a splendid place be hers? 

On further inspection the meal couldn’t possibly be hers, it looked far too rich. Cold meats and cheeses and grapes and soft bread. Perhaps the king would be dining with her. No, how ridiculous, it was fairly obvious what her function was to be in regards to the king and it wasn’t going to be eating lunches with him. 

After a couple more minutes of deliberation, her hunger won out to her anxiety and she ate the meal, savouring in every slow bite. Being unused to the amount of food she could only manage about half of it.

An hour later, the same maid appeared again to collect the tray. She looked at it and sniffed in a way that Sylbie felt she was passing some sort of judgement.

“Did I—, I’m sorry.”

“Not up to me what you eat,” the maid said sulkily and took the tray and flounced out the door.

Then she was left alone again and after ascertaining that there were no chores to do — the rooms were scrupulously clean, she looked in the wardrobe again. The gowns were very grand; one of them a light pink, the fabric soft and silky, others a beautiful brocade with the most gorgeous floral details woven in the design. Even the purple one looked luxurious, a far cry from anything she had worn in the brothel. Sometimes one of the girls would get a dress from a client and would proudly parade around in it, but they were never as beautiful as these. 

Now, Sylbie took one of the fine gowns from the wardrobe, and held it up to her body, twirling in the mirror with it. Then she saw a scruffy skinny girl playing around in a fine lady’s dresses and hastily put it back.

The cupboard under the bathroom mirror revealed several cosmetic products with this, that, and the other. Some of them she recognised, other’s she didn’t. She had half a mind to organise them, but in what way? So she left them be.

In the sitting room the sofa was as plush as it looked and what a treat it was to have a holovision all to herself. Sometimes the girls would crowd around the small set in the bedroom in the mornings to watch what Selena referred to as “old people’s programmes” normally about antiques brought from Midgard. She flicked through the channels, not being able to fix on anything. 

At about half-past six ( judging from the ornate clock on the mantelpiece), there was once again a knock on the door. Sylbie opened it, expecting the same maid, and was surprised by an older woman carrying a tray of food in one hand and a bag in the other.

“Oh, you didn’t need to get up madam,” she said, “Just tell us that you are ready for us to come in,” she set the tray down on the table. “My name’s Ginevra, and I am one of your maids here at the palace. Sylubelle, is that right?”

“Yes.”

She gave a smile. 

“I’m going to sort some things out in the bathroom for you now. I have brought some things to do your make-up,” Ginevra held up the bag. 

“Is...is the king expecting me soon?”

“In a couple of hours. No need to rush.” With that, Ginevra disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Sylbie alone with some buttered fish which was delicious, but did nothing to ease her already queasy stomach. There was also a small white pill in a pot that left Sylbie with no doubts about what it was.

It was maybe 30 minutes later when Ginevra reappeared. 

“Are you ready to bathe now? I will run the bath for you.”

“I—yes.” It wasn’t like she would have any say otherwise. The king would not like to be kept waiting, Sylbie imagined. The waters were warm and inviting, and would be a welcome comfort to soothe away the days turmoils—if the day was already ended—it was not, and almost resignedly she got out of the tub and put on the nightgown and robe that were   
waiting for her.  
  
Ginevra had her sit down on the plush stool that was hidden underneath the vanity and Sylbie waited as all manners of products were applied, hoping that it wouldn’t turn out too unflattering. If the king wanted a painted whore, that was what he was going to get.

The end result was something far nicer. Somehow, Ginevra had managed to transform Sylbie’s thin, wearied face to something respectable, almost as if her skin was glowing, her hair falling in soft waves down her shoulders. And Ginevra’s kindly face smiling at her in the glass. 

“There, you’re ready.”


	5. Chapter 5

It was a different guard that took her to the king, again through the winding passage ways. He was silent throughout their walk and it only added to her apprehension, the walls felt foreboding and watchful, the sconces casting eerie shadows.

The robe she wore was a thick silk of deep navy embroidered with delicate pink blossoms, and she was glad of its weight, for the sheerness of the nightgown she wore underneath left her feeling rather exposed. Which was probably the point. She fastened the sash even tighter around her, as if it would serve as some sort of protection. 

The king was sitting on his chaise when she entered, so she went to drop to her knees, but he stood up and left her in a half-curtsy, head down.

“Uh-uh,” he chastised, lifting her chin with one hand, “eyes up.” 

Sylbie struggled to obey him, finding herself once again trapped by his gaze. He looked even more dangerous in the half light, a snake waiting to pounce. And those eyes, the blue was absolutely mesmerising. 

“There we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it, Sylubelle?”

He must have learned her name from his valet. 

“You do look much better now,” he mused, tracing a finger from her temple down to her cheek.

She trembled, partly in fear, partly in anticipation of what was to come. And then he moved down further still, under the neckline of her robe to trace along her collarbone. She let out a small sigh that didn’t go unmissed, and he smirked at her, in that unnerving yet captivating way.

With his other hand he took hers and held it to his crotch. Sylbie gasped at the feel of his warmth through his trousers, as he forced her to rub him through the cloth. She didn’t have to be here. She could tear her hand away and struggle like she had done that morning, and perhaps he would be forgiving. Or not. He was a warrior and a sorcerer and could probably kill her with a snap of his fingers. More than that, he was the king.

It wouldn’t be so bad, she tried to console herself. It was just sex, after all. She could do this. 

She couldn’t. 

“Relax pet,” he stroked the side of her face, his touch very gentle, as if he was caressing an animal. She could do this. The girls had talked about intimacy plainly enough before. But experience was very different, and the king’s next command had her heart beating even faster. 

“Kneel.”

With both hands on her shoulders, he gently but firmly pushed her to her knees, and withdrew his length, which sprang to life in front of her face.

“Suck.”

She had to do this. There was no ‘could’ about it. 

Obediently, she took him in her mouth, but gagged when he hit the back of her throat, at once choking and having his length fall out and hit her on the side of her face.

He chuckled at that, “Bit too eager, aren’t we pet?” and Sylbie’s cheeks heated in humiliation. 

Then, gentler, “Take as much of me as you can, what you can’t get in your mouth, use your hands.” 

And so, Sylbie ended the day on her knees, taking the king in her mouth. It wasn’t how she had envisioned the day to finish when she had awoken that morning, but if she tried, she could pretend it was just another job for her to do. It wasn’t so bad, if she did her best to adhere carefully to his instruction, how to alternate her strokes, and run her tongue along the tip, and fondle his balls with her hand. And he wasn’t hurting her, not really. In fact, he was giving her soft murmurings of praise. If she just did as she was told, she could survive this.   
  
Until he thrust fully into her mouth, holding her by the back of her head so she couldn’t get free, making her choke upon his length. She gagged and struggled and just at the moment when she thought she could no longer breathe, he came, some of it landing on her tongue but some on her face, and some on the floor as she coughed and spluttered, falling on to her hands.

“Shh, there there, you’ve done so well, good girl,” he praised, hand stroking across her back, suddenly crouched down beside her. With his finger he wiped the come that had smeared on her cheek and pressed it to her lips. Obediently, she took the wordless command to open her mouth and licked his finger clean. 

“Good girl,” he said, and smiled at her.

It sent a flush all throughout her body, and almost made up for the choking before.

“Can you stand up?” 

It was a command, not a question, and she got shakily to her legs.

“Goodnight.” He turned his back to her, retreating to his desk. 

Wait, was that it? Was he not going to do...something more? But when he proceeded not to acknowledge her at all, carrying on with looking at some letters, or whatever it was on his desk, she took the hint and left, curtsying, although she wasn’t sure if it was really necessary. Really, she felt rather foolish, and wondered if the king was secretly laughing at her. He didn’t give off that impression outwardly however.

Sylbie did not sleep well that night. The bed was luxuriously soft, and on an ordinary day she would have fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. But the day had been so long and tumultuous that she could not get her thoughts straight and tossed and turned until she groggily made her way to the bathroom and promptly threw up into the toilet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why’s Sylbie’s rooms so far away though? Who knows?


	6. Chapter 6

Sylbie ended up falling asleep in the early hours of the morning, and woke to a room bright and welcoming in the sunshine.

Wearing last night’s robe, she made her way to the main room to be greeted with a bowl of porridge. That, and a plate of colourful fruits. The porridge was lukewarm, but there were worse things than cold porridge. And this one was deliciously creamy. It seemed that in the palace they could make even porridge fit for a king. And the fruits! They were so sweet and succulent, the juices refreshing on her tongue.

She made sure to finish it, seeing the maid’s reaction to the lunch before. Though it settled heavy on her stomach, and she dreaded being summoned only to embarrass herself terribly in front of the king.

When she had eaten, and waited a few long anxious minutes after to be summoned somewhere at the king’s behest, the door was pushed open, and Sayuri leapt to her feet, ready to greet the stranger.

It was the same maid as the day before, pointedly averting her gaze as she cleared away the breakfast tray.

“Thank you,” Sylbie said quietly, uneasy with the heavy silence in the room.

The maid stilled and turned her head towards her, so while she had her attention Sylbie continued.

“I’m sorry about yesterday. About the lunch? I hope you didn’t get in trouble for it?”   
It would be truly terrible, for someone else to be punished for her mistake.

The maid turned white, “No, no, I didn’t get in trouble. I — um, have a good day madam,” she bobbed a quick curtsy and all but ran out of the door. 

“Have a good day,” Sylbie called to the retreating form.

Seeing that she would not be called upon to perform any duties, Sylbie switched on the holovision for want of something to do.

Showing was the morning’s council session. Well of course the king wouldn’t call upon you now, Sylbie chided herself, he is too busy with the affairs of the kingdom to have time for bedslaves.

The private debates were not shown of course, but one could get a glimpse into how the monarch was leading the kingdom. In earlier days Sylbie had watched them faithfully every morning, to see if there would be some drastic bill to stop slavery and allow her to see her family again. As she had gotten older she had wised up, and saw that was never going to happen. 

Today, the topic of debate was the floods in the western countries. It was oddly disconcerting to see the king in action, discussing the affairs of the kingdom, knowing how she was on her knees before him the night before, and would be tonight, or on her back, or in any other way he wished to take her. 

It was a role that any Asgardian would dream of. And she was so very lucky to be in the position she was. So very lucky indeed. 

And then she was searching for a tissue to wipe away her tears.

When the evening came, and Ginevra returned to help her prepare, she took a deep breath and fixed a polite smile on her face.

“Oh, you’re still in your nightclothes?”

“Yes. Was I meant to wear something else?” The sinking pit of anxiety that had formed in her stomach as the evening drew in only grew in size.

“The dresses in the wardrobe,” Ginevra smiled warmly, “Didn’t Lucy help you?”

Lucy, she guessed, was the other maid. She shook her head. 

Ginevra tutted. “Typical. She’s stubborn that one. I’ll have a word with her.”

“Oh no! Please don’t. She has been good to me. Please don’t let her get into trouble on my account. “

“Oh not at all dear. Just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“Oh yes. I am, very much so,” Sylbie lied, twisting her hands behind her back.

—

Her time with the king was much like the night before, on her knees again with his length in her mouth. It wasn’t that bad, the carpet was soft beneath her. She could be bruising her knees on the cold, hard ground. And even if it was more for the king’s benefit than hers, at least she could too enjoy the luxuries of the plush flooring.

As for the act itself, she wasn’t sure she would ever enjoy it, despite the enthusiastic comments the girls had made numerous times before when talking about oral sex, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. And the utterings of praise from the king had her feeling decidedly warm between her thighs. It was slightly disconcerting, and if she had her way she would have asked for them to stop. Although if she had her way she wouldn't be in this position in the first place.

Still, it wasn’t that bad, he could have been ramming himself down her throat or have taken her brutally over the nearest available surface. Although Sylbie knew that the fact he wasn’t acting in such a horrendous way did not mean he was the pinnacle of virtue, but it was all she had.

And then, just as she had figured out the delicate balance of pleasuring him whilst keeping a control on her breathing, he hit the back of her throat and unlike the night before, the tight grip on her hair was painful, and she feared if she moved too much one way or another it would be pulled out by the root. As she struggled for air, Sylbie thought that this must be a punishment for some infraction she was unaware of.

Then his warm come was filling her mouth, and as his hands came away she choked it down, and his length popped out of her mouth, saliva running down her chin.

Sylbie fell onto her hands, gasping, trying her best not to flinch when the king appeared on his knees before her. And then his hands came to her throat and she froze. She still was not entirely sure of the temperament of the king. He could strangle her and no one would care.

He didn’t. Instead, he began to massage her throat with his hands.

“Shh,” he cooed, “There there, that’s a good girl. You’ve done so well.”

There was a fluttering of something in her stomach that she couldn’t place. And again, that warmth between her thighs, coupled with the desire to tear herself away from his grasp.

She didn’t of course, and as she knelt, hands in her lap, his fingers travelled down to her breasts, fondling them through the material of her nightgown.

And then his lips attached to her neck and as he suckled her flesh she let out a strangled moan at his touch. Sylbie pursed her lips to prevent any more sounds escaping, only for the king to raise his head from her neck and trace a finger over her lips

“Don’t you dare. Let me hear those sounds of yours pet.”

She nodded meekly and once again he turned his attention to her neck and she shifted her weight in an attempt to lessen some of the… discomfort between her thighs. This only seemed to encourage the king further, and as he pinched her nipples (which may have been painful in any other instance, but in this case it only added to the tingles manifesting down her arms, and the stirrings of something in her nether regions) she found herself wanting...more.

Of course, like before, the king pulled away, and to her embarrassment Sylbie whined at the loss.

“Shh, pet. All in good time,” he said, smoothing her hair with his hand.

And there again was that wicked, wonderful smile.


	7. Chapter 7

The second night had been a fragmented nightmare of the king strangling her to death...and then she had woken up, her body slick with sweat.

She entered the other room as breakfast was being served.

Fresh fruits, and scrambled eggs on toast. 

At the house Sylbie was afforded one egg on Blessing Days perhaps. If she wasn’t being punished for something or the other.

“Thank you,” she said to Lucy, who was setting up the table, “Did—did you have a good sleep?”

Lucy jumped, almost spilling the pot of tea, then looked over at Sylbie and nodded.

Later, when she came to clear up, (there wasn’t much to do—Sylbie having already neatly put things back on the tray), the maid stood awkwardly in the doorway for a couple of moments, before saying:

“Would you like me to help you dress?”

“Oh, um, well, if it’s not too much trouble…”

Sylubelle pondered over the pretty gowns, and looked over at Lucy who was standing in the corner, obviously expecting her to pick one out. How was she meant to choose? She never had the luxury of choice before.

“Which one should I... which one do you think would please the king?”

Lucy shrugged.

That wasn’t quite the answer Sylubelle was looking for. But perhaps Lucy had no indication of the king’s preference. 

Perhaps he did not have a preference.

She had assumed he would care somewhat about what she wore, and he had made that comment about her dress when she first arrived. Or maybe he had no expectations unless she was right in front of him. And then, his expectations didn’t seem to have anything to do with her clothing.

In the end, she decided on the gown of pink taffeta. Ruffled and gorgeous, and making Sylbie feel every inch the fraud. It probably didn’t matter which she chose. These dresses must have been selected by the king in the first place, or else they wouldn’t be there.

Besides, Lucy was starting to look very uncomfortable, standing there, shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

“Do you need help with it?”

“No. I think I will be okay.”

“I can go?”

“Yes?”

Lucy couldn’t have left quick enough.

And then she was back a second later to fetch the tray.

And so followed another day of sitting around, and rearranging the potions in the bathroom cabinet, and watching holovision, and staring out of the window at the beautiful gardens in an attempt to break the monotony.

When the evening came, it was not Ginevra who appeared. A new woman. Tall and dark and confident,

“Hello madam, I am Eshilda. Ginevra has her day off on Wednesdays and Thursdays. You have me, lucky you! You will look the most spectacular! This time, the king will be so wowed that you might even last a month!”

There again, was that ever largening pit of anxiety in Sylbie’s stomach.

“I am joking of course! But the king will be so pleased to see you when we are done.”

The king was pleased. At least, when she rose out of her curtsy, he smiled. And it wasn’t that conniving smirk he used often either. It was—or, at least, it seemed to Sylbie—to be something genuinely benevolent. And even if it wasn’t...well, not much she could do about that. She smiled back, hoping that was what he wanted.

“Pet, come here.”

She did as she was told, and once she was in front of him, went to sink to her knees, but he took her by the arm and had her lie down on the chaise.

She braced herself. This was it. No going back now. She watched, frozen, as the king undid the silken knot of her dark green robe, fingers dancing over her stomach, ghosting the curve of her breasts.

Sylbie shuddered.

She had known it was coming, but now, to be on the edge of it, where there was no possibility of going back…

His hands moved to her wrists, and he took them and placed them above her head. Then, using one hand to pin her there, he undid his trousers to reveal his length.

Sylbie tensed.

No, she should relax. It was better if she relaxed. It would be easier to take him that way.

And he positioned himself at her lips.

Sylbie widened her eyes. It wasn’t where she expected him to put it. But she obediently took him in her mouth all the same.

The new angle made it harder for her to attend to him without gagging, and he was the one who was in control of how far his sex went down her throat. A terrible way to go, choking on a man. Even if it was the king. Yet he was being almost considerate, as if he could tell when she needed to take another breath, and would withdraw himself just enough to relieve the pressure. And all along he was giving her encouragement, words of praise that again sent tingles throughout her limbs. There was something else too, something about her hands being pinned above her head that added to the feeling of being helpless, and she was starting to see how this could be enjoyable—If she was with someone willingly, that is.

The king pulled out, letting go of her wrists, and taking himself in his hands, came all over her nightgown. 

Sylbie couldn’t do anything but stare. She would have wanted to remove the soiled item right away, although not in front of the king. He did not seem too fussed about the mess he made, for he massaged her breasts through her gown, not seeming to care if he dirtied his hands in the process. And then he reached between her legs, and slipped a hand in her knickers to press at the tiny bud of pleasure.

The moan she gave out was so wanton, that Sylbie turned her face away in embarrassment

“No.” All at once, his hand was at her chin “Stay still. You will look at me as I touch you.”

And so Sylbie was trapped in that mesmerising gaze of blue, darkened by desire.

He slipped a finger inside and she gasped at the intrusion. It was a foreign touch and slightly uncomfortable, but it touched upon the edge of something she couldn’t help but feel all throughout her body, she wanted it, and she found herself bucking her hips into him

He paused, finger still snug inside her.

“Uh-uh, what did I say. Still.”

It was a great effort to lay there while he did those things to her; his finger curling inside and pressing at her tight channel, his thumb making soft strokes at the bud above it. His other hand curled around her throat, though not too harshly, adding to the eroticism, causing a soft mewl of a whimper to escape her lips. 

“Shh, pet.”

And then, just as the pleasure was starting to build, he pulled away, and Sylbie let out a soft whine at the absence.

The king rose, and pulled her into a sitting position.

“Well run along now, there’s a good girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi darling readers old and new to my often neglected fic. 
> 
> There is like plot but make it sexy. And yes things are moving kind of slow but will ramp up, just give it time. 
> 
> I'm probably never going to update regularly but I am feeling kind of inspired lately.


	8. Chapter 8

Her third night had Sylbie lying in bed trying not to think about the king’s fingers pressing inside her, the soiled nightgown discarded on the floor. 

Once or twice her fingers would wander between her thighs. Despite having lived in a brothel for some time, she had never needed to find release in that way. Normally she was so exhausted when going to bed, she would sleep as long as she was able. Now, she had so much extra energy from doing nothing all day, and her evenings with the king were so...stimulating, that it was near impossible to go to sleep right away. But she stopped short of actually touching herself. She had cause to believe that the king was possessive in such a way that it would stretch even to things like that.

It was just as well she had. For the king, it turned out the next day, was not in a good mood. It was the fault of one of the councillors, who had made the grave error of suggesting that the heavy rains causing the flooding were to do with growing tensions between Alfheim.

“So what exactly are you saying Betram,” the king intoned, voice rising in volume, “Are you saying that it is some curse set out by the Elves?”

“Well,” it seemed that Betram was unaware that he had somehow misstepped, for he carried on affably, “It does seem that recent...disputes might be a contributory factor.”

The creases of anger were evident on the king’s face. 

“Contributory?”

“Well, perhaps they are dissatisfied with how talks have been handled so far.”

“Then what exactly is it your saying?!” the king seethed, voice rising in volume, “That I am incapable of holding good relationships with our neighbouring lands?”

Finally, the councillor realised he had somehow erred, “Well no, no no. That is not what I’m saying. Only…”

“Well I would suggest you say no more.”

“Sire,” Another council member was brave enough to speak up. “The rains are not unseasonal for this time of year…”

Watching from the sofa in her room, Sylubelle dreaded facing the brunt of his ire later that evening. It was the way things went. Too many times she had to take care of the girls when a customer had used them as their personal punching bag for their own misfortune.

To calm herself, she switched off the holovision to look outside, hoping seeing the gardens would soothe her somehow.

The streets in Hovell were a dreary wash of greys and browns, contrasted with the gaudy colours Drian had the girls wear. The gardens of the palace on the other hand were a brilliant oil painting of blues and yellows and pinks and if the courtiers wore bright tones theirselves, it only added to the magnificence of the spectacle.

Sylbie could be content if she were to have her last days with this sort of view.

When Eshilda came to do her makeup, the patch where the king had suckled on her neck had darkened considerably.

“Oh yes, the king will mark you, he likes it on you. Only his marks though.”

Sylbie nodded as if she were only making small talk.

The cuts of the whip on her back were healing, albeit slowly, and hopefully he wouldn't see them. But what if he wanted to add marks like that of his own? No, best not to think of that.

It was just as well that she had, for the first thing he did when she saw him that evening (And she didn’t see him until that evening, that seemed how their routine was going to be.) he held her against him, and she could feel his arousal pressing into her back.

Then his hand snuck into her underwear and as he pressed two fingers to her quim, she let out a breathy moan that had her want to tear herself away from his clutches.

“Did you touch yourself last night?”

“No master.” Answer quickly, to stall his anger.

“I own this,” he emphasised by stroking those fingers slowly up and down her slit, “do you understand?”

“Yes master.”

“Your pleasure is mine.” 

Just as she thought. He was possessive in that way.

“Yes master.”

“You are not to give yourself pleasure.”

“Yes master.”

“Good girl,” he replied, and gave one final stroke of his fingers before pulling them away, and holding them to her lips.

She opened her mouth obediently. She did not find her own scent pleasant, but it was no worse than anything else he had put in her mouth. And as he palmed her breasts she wondered if it would be tonight that he would take her.

He seemed calm. But one could never tell with the king.

And then his fingers released from her mouth, and he spun her around to face him.

The way he looked at her… He was like a wolf. That would bite and tear and devour its prey, till even their soul was consumed.

“Well then pet. On your knees.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Darlings

After making use of her mouth, the king had once again pressed his fingers to her womanhood, touch possessive yet gentle, as if a caress of a lover, and not an owner. And then, to her shame Sylubelle bucked her hips toward him. He did not reprimand her, as she feared. And then, to her shame, she found herself moaning at his touch, like some kind of wanton whore

“Please…”

He smirked, his gaze utterly sinful. Then his lips went to her neck, suckling along that pressure point, putting fire between her legs. He moved up along her neck, and to her ear.

“I know what you need,” he whispered, voice husky, rubbing her all the more. But just as the stirrings of pleasure were teetering on the edge of something more, he pulled away, 

“But not yet.” 

Sylbie could have wailed in frustration.

She expected him to take her then.

He didn’t.

The next morning was punctuated with the arrival of a new maid. She was wearing the same green uniform as the others, and had the same dark hair and wide mouth as Lucy.

Unlike Lucy, this new maid seemed to take to her duties with great enthusiasm, her words bouncing around the room as she talked.

“I’m Amy! What would you like to wear today? What about this one? This looks nice!” 

Although the lilac dress picked out wouldn’t be one of Sylbie’s first choices, she felt that she could not say a word in protest. The maid then insisted on styling her hair, causing Sylbie to ask,

“The king will be seeing me this morning?”

“No,” the maid paused with the brush in her hand, “I don’t think so. Eager to get back to him, eh?” she grinned. 

“...Yes, I—I suppose so,” Sylbie replied, twisting her hands in her lap.

When the king did not take her that night. Sylbie started to have her doubts.

Perhaps he had another slave? It was perfectly within his rights of course, but she got the impression he was not like that.

The king, sat on his chaise, met her gaze with a cool demeanour.

“What is it? Spit it out.”

“Do I —” she took a deep breath from where she was knelt on the floor, “Do I not please you master?”

“Please me? What makes you think I’m not pleased. Did I not cum in that pretty mouth of yours?”

Sylbie’s cheeks coloured. 

“But you have—you haven’t…”

“Oh. I haven’t fucked you? Is that it? That your complaint?” He rose, eyes a fire, to look down upon her, “You want me to take you, down here on this floor like some common whore? Rip your dress off—pin you to the wall? Make you cum and ravage you, so you can only beg for my cock? Is that what you want? Because,” he crouched down to her level and took her by the throat, “I will. You will take what I give and you will like it.”

“I—I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m sorry I—“ she wept.

He softened, taking his hand from her neck.

“Don’t cry. Shh, I am very pleased with you, do I not tell you enough?”

“Yes master,” Sylbie agreed hastily.

And then, the king had the audacity to smirk, when she was in such a state.

“Well which is it? Do I or do I not tell you?”

“You do master, I just, I want you to—” she stopped herself before she could say anything dreadfully improper. Although it was clear they had gone past the need for propriety now. “Please don’t send me back.”

The king’s expression changed to one of puzzlement. “Back? Why on Midgard would I send you back? Not that there is any back for you to go to,” he added quietly.

“But...don’t you— don’t you get rid of them after a week?”

He laughed, a real honest laugh, that did not sound belittling, but as if he were truly amused.

“Oh pet, my sweet girl. Why on earth would I get rid of you? I’ve barely gotten to know you. I ask only that you do as you're told. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Yes master. Of course.”


	10. Chapter 10

The next evening, he had her sit in his lap while he snuck his hands under her dress, fiddling at her heat. His other hand he would use to rub alternatively at her breasts, occasionally running her fingers up and down her body, causing her to shudder when he touched that sensitive area just below her ribs.

As his touches became more intense, Sylbie pursed her lips to muffle her moans, but the king tutted.

“Ah ah no, I want to hear every single sound.”

At her master’s command she relaxed her mouth, letting the soft mewls and whimpers that she previously kept confined escape her lips, though it caused her face to heat in embarrassment. Although Sylbie wished the king would show mercy tonight, and as she felt the rising wave come to a peak just before he pulled his fingers away, stopping at hitting just that point, she found it very hard not to just get on her knees and beg.

It would not be at all dignified.

When he did it for the second, then third time, she couldn’t help herself.

“Master... please.”

His fingers which had been circling that point between her thighs, slowed in their movements, and his warm breath tickled at her ear.

“Please... what?”

“I...I don’t know,” she admitted.

“I know what you need...” the king said, his voice full of glee. If he did know, why could he not just let her have it? Save her from this torture?

“...but I cannot give it to you unless you tell me what you want.”

“Please master, I need...”

“Ah ah, I can’t hear you.”

“Please...master.”

“What do you need?”

“I need to…,” she swallowed her pride and finished the rest of the shameful sentence, “I need to come.”

“Well then my dear, you shall.”

And then that wave became a crescent, and she was seeing stars, screaming in ecstasy.

When the moment had passed Sylbie was shocked to find that she had dug her nails into the king’s hand, leaving marks.

“Master…”

“It’s just a scratch pet,” he said dismissively, his hand travelling up and down her back.

His nail caught upon one of the whipping marks through her robe, causing her to flinch and whimper.

“Sylubelle,” his voice was hard, “stand up.”

She did as she was told, although it had her wringing her hands in anxiety. Then the robe was slipped from her shoulders with a controlled gentleness.

No, oh no, no no no.

There was a great rip, and the cool of the night upon her back.

“What’s this?” His finger traced into one of the cuts then pressed into it, hard.

She thought that she had seen the king’s anger before, when he shouted at that councillor the other day. That was nothing to this. His anger was uncomfortable, his ire, terrifying.

“Who did this to you?” His voice shook with his emotion, rippling through to her back, “Was it your former master? “

“Yes.”

It would not do to hide the truth now.

“What was it? 5 lashes? 10?”

“Twenty,” she answered, her voice pitifully small.

“Twenty.” The number hung in the air, echoing her shame around the room.

Twenty lashes? Did you commit some heinous crime then? Is that what I have? A disobedient whore?” His finger drove into one of the cuts again and Sylbie whimpered, holding back a sob, “Is it? Well, what did you do?”

“I...I broke a vase.”

“A vase? So you’re clumsy then? Did you trip and fall? Is that what happened? Tell me.”

“Yes, very clumsy.”

His fingers came to her neck, though they did not exert pressure.

“Do not ever lie to me.” The hand dropped away.

So she told him, eyes fixated on the plush emerald carpet as she spoke. She told the king, her master of how the vase was positioned up high and though she was given a ladder, (an old rickety one that she was afraid would break at any moment ) she would still have to lean and stretch to reach it. How she had lost her balance and then it would have been either her or the vase.

“So you saved yourself, rather than the master’s property. Good, I’m glad you’re not a fool.”

Sylbie kept quiet. It did not matter what the king thought of her. Fool or not, it made no difference. Surely, now he knew of her infraction, of her disobedience, he would see how much her value was diminished.

He traced lines on her back with her finger, supposedly where the marks were, though his touch was gentle, 

“So, it was expensive and he lashed out in anger. How much? 20 gold? 200?”

“No master. The vase was the value of a silver coin.”

The king stopped, and his voice again became dangerously soft.

“20 lashes. 20 lashes for a silver coin. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to leave him to rot in my prison? Rip the limbs from his sockets? Slowly let out the blood from his body so that he begs for death?”

Sylbie shook at the gruesome images the king painted in her mind. She had never wished anything quite so horrifying on another, but sometimes, when her old master came down with sickness, she would wish it lasted just a little longer. It was a horrible thought to have, she was truly wicked. And now, the king…

“I—I don’t know.”

His hands were upon her back. 

“Stay still.”

Sylbie’s eyes widened in surprise as she felt the king’s seidr mist over her back. She had experienced healers in the before times, when she was a child. It had been so long ago. How the place would throb, tingling with an itchiness in response to the magic. This magic had a slight chill to it.

And then it was over.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Sylubelle, turn round.”

She did so of course, and then she was accosted by her master's penetrating gaze, looking her up and down. Oh, of course, the king would not use his seidr on a lowly slave for nothing. She was expecting it soon enough anyway. It was just a shame it had not happened earlier, when she was feeling the after effects of her pleasure. It wouldn’t have been so bad then.

May as well get it over with.

What she did not expect was for him to pick up her robe off the floor and dress her in it, fastening it tight around her body. And then he was asking her if she was alright getting back to her rooms on her own.

She nodded. She never was truly alone. The guard was always there.

She was soon learning not to make any expectations where the king was concerned. 

Especially when his next action was to lean down and leave a kiss upon her forehead.

“I’m sorry pet. I’ve rather...lost the mood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments darlings


	11. Chapter 11

Treading back through the winding passages, Sylbie couldn’t help but think over what had just transpired. She had expected the king to be angry when he discovered the cuts. And he was…

But not at her it seemed. And the kiss! It did not seem in the king’s nature to be so affectionate. But she still wasn’t entirely sure what his true nature was.

Perhaps she would not be here long enough to discover it.

“Madam.”

Sylubelle was brought out of her thoughts by the voice of the guard. She lifted her head to see that they had arrived back at her chambers. She thought she had a sense of the route by now, but she was so distracted that she had hardly noticed the walk.

“Oh...thank you. Goodnight.”

The soldier inclined his head respectfully.

“Goodnight madam.”

—

In the morning, Lucy was back it seemed, but although a simple “Good Morning” was offered and returned, no further conversation was had. And Lucy was giving her a very strange look, leaving Sylubelle to wonder what had happened.

When two guards came shortly after breakfast and asked her to follow them, her mind was cast into further doubt.

Perhaps they were going to get rid of her after all.

Oh well, she tried to console herself. If she was going to leave, at least she needn’t bother learning all the rooms and corridors of this wretched palace. She had only just gotten used to the route to the king’s rooms.

They eventually arrived at...the healers room? It looked to be that way, what with the crisp white beds and the various machines that Sylbie knew nothing of, though she recognised some of the equipment from the medic ward in the place she had spent her childhood.

A dour faced woman greeted them, wearing a dress of a cool blue cotton weave, greying hair pulled back in a tight bun,

“Ah, she’s arrived. Thank you boys, you may go.”

She directed Sylbie to sit on a bed, then pressed her fingers round her face.

“So tell me, how are you finding it here in the palace?” When Sylbie didn’t immediately respond, she continued, “What, are you mute? Has the king cut out your tongue?”

At that, Sylbie managed to find her voice. “No. The king... has been kind to me.”

The healer clucked, and Sylbie wondered if she had somehow spoken out of turn.

“Perhaps after this you will not find him so kind.”

In the continuing hours Sylbie found herself subjected to every test that could have possibly been done to a person. She was poked and prodded and scanned. The healer would look at charts and hum to herself.

She ran her fingers down Sylbie’s arm. 

“This has been broken.”

“Yes, twice.” Sylbie recalled vividly how difficult it was to manage her chores with a broken arm.

And then she inserted a tiny chip into her arm.

“That will solve one problem.”

The only reprieve was when lunch was brought to her in the room.

She could not eat much of it. She hadn’t really an appetite, and it came with prawns. Sylbie did not care for prawns.

The afternoon was quite gone when the king’s valet appeared. She had not seen him since he had brought her to the palace. But there was no time to talk with him now, for the curtain was pulled across the bed and she was quite shut out of their conversation.

They did not take long to be joined by the king (The click of his boots gave away his gait though she could not see him.) And then she waited while they supposedly discussed her fate. For surely it was to decide whether her existence in the king’s presence was allowed to continue.

The curtain was drawn across. The three of them were looking down at her expectantly.

She made to get up.

The healer clicked her tongue.

“Sit down girl. You need rest.”

Stuck between the command of the healer and disrespect to her master, the king no less. What was she to do? She couldn’t say sitting down, that would be suicide, if she wasn’t dead already. But if she got up she would be disobeying the instructions of the healer to rest. But the healer’s words must be less than those of the king. Although who was it that had commanded the healer to look at her? The king, surely—

It was the king who made up her mind for her. He walked towards the bed, and then she was scooped into his arms with a scream of surprise from her end. She had no time to think of the compromising position she was in, when in a flash of green, she was transported to her bedroom.  
  
She could not fight against him if she tried. The sensation of being pulled from one place to another left her feeling quite sick, even as he was tucking her into bed, like some sort of handmaiden.

“Rest now, pet.”

“But,” Sylbie struggled to sit up, “Don’t you need anything from me?”

A firm yet gentle hand on her shoulders pushed her down into the pillow.

“I need you to rest.”

“I am well,” Sylbie protested, “I am able to serve you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Pet, there is one person in this room who has heard Amaya’s report on your health, and one who hasn’t. If you do not listen to me and rest, I will tie you to this bed, and believe me, you will not find it pleasant.”

That had her grow pale at such a thought, and she meekly settled down. But the healer’s work was hanging over her like a dark cloud. Healers were expensive. Extra costs required extra duties.

The king’s brow creased frowned and he let out a long drawn sigh;

“What is it pet?”

“What do I owe you? The bill for the healer?”

He grinned, as if mocking her.

“Nothing pet, you haven’t any money.”

Sylbie’s cheeks heated,

“I mean, extra duties. It is an extra expense to my master. It is my responsibility to make sure he does not suffer for my needs.”

He caught her in the cool blue of his gaze and she shrank back. She had spoken out of turn. She should have listened to the valet and kept quiet.

“I don’t know what abominable lies you have been fed in your sad little life but I will tell you now: It’s my responsibility as your master to make sure you’re safe and well. Not to make you suffer out of some perverted pleasure. There will be no qualms about expense or some other sycophantic drivel. You will rest.”

At his words her stomach decided to make itself known, growling its way through the quiet of the room.

His half smile then was warm. 

“If you are hungry I will have them bring you food. But rest now pet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Darlings 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos. 
> 
> Oh did anyone see the trailer for the TV series? I’m so excited.
> 
> Have a nice holiday season and stay safe.


	12. Chapter 12

The promised food did arrive, about a half hour after the king’s departure. And along with it, Ginevra, who gave her a kindly smile.

“Would you like me to draw you a bath madam?”

“No,” Sylubelle replied, conscious of her master’s instructions. Bathing had not been mentioned. “I think I will go straight to bed afterwards.”

“Of course. I’ll tell Amy to run one in the morning if you are too tired for it now?”

“Oh yes. Yes please. If you would.”

Sylbie was quite capable of running her own bath but that was not how things were done here it seemed. 

No prawns this time, thankfully. Sylbie devoured the meal, a rich creamy pasta, in all of five minutes, then dove back under the covers. She did not want to risk the consequences of disobeying the king.

But although she was near exhausted, she found sleep hard to come by. The new chip in her arm told her she would be staying here for the foreseeable future. But what would her future entail? If she stayed here in the palace she would live in luxury, that was for sure.

And how much luxury could she have if she was a slave? The king had healed her and provided for her comfort, even told her that it was his duty to do so. But she hadn’t been able to hear the report on her own health. How was she to know she wouldn’t soon die from some terrible disease?

And when eventually he grew bored of her, what would happen then? Nobody heard about the ex-whores of the king. They were all quite forgotten.

A howl of a wolf rang out through the night, piercing through Sylbie’s thoughts. For now, she would be grateful for the comfort and safety she was afforded, and take things one day at a time.

After breakfast (and a bath) the next day, Sylbie had a visitor.

The king’s valet. Forseti was his name, if she recalled correctly,

“Madam,” he gave a small inclination of his head, “We were wondering if there would be any way to make your stay more comfortable?”

More comfortable? Was she not comfortable enough already? She looked around the room, at the opulent furnishings.

“Actually there is one thing…”

“Speak it. I will see what we can do.”

“May I be permitted to have a book?” Anything to stave off the boredom of being cooped up in her room all day. The holovision provided entertainment, yes, but now her days were not occupied by menial tasks, she needed something to feed her mind. 

“A book? Of course, there are plenty in the library if you would like to have a browse? But was there not anything more you wanted?”

Sylbie shook her head. “No. The library? How would I get there?”

“The normal way. Ask the guard to show you.”

“The guard?” Sylbie looked towards the door, “Do you mean the one outside my room?”

Forseti’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Madam. You have ventured outside your chambers since your arrival in the palace, have you not?”

“Well I, yesterday I went to the healers—“

“I mean, besides the healers—or to see the king?” Forseti added hastily.

Sylbie shook her head, 

“No sir.”

“Madam, you are free to walk the palace as you please. With an escort of course.”

“But...the guard?”

Though Forseti’s tone remained gentle, his words made her feel incredibly foolish.

“A presence is maintained outside your chambers for your protection madam. Would you like to go to the library now ? Merlon can take you.”

—

The library was as grand as the rest of the palace — scores of books on many different levels, the upper mezzanines overlooking the ground floor. Walls with painted murals, depicting all the wonders of the seven realms. The ceiling a glass dome that revealed the midday sky—a perfect day of pale blue and white fluffy clouds drifting slowly across. 

In truth, Sylbie would have liked to spend a while here. If it were not for the fact that the library was full of courtiers. Sylbie could feel their eyes on her. Judging. She did not belong here, amongst this grandeur. She was a lowly slave. No, a whore. The king’s whore.

She hurriedly selected a book from the first set of shelves she came to   
and left.

The sanctuary of her chambers had been disturbed. The king was in the bedroom, looking through the dresses in the wardrobe. The room seemed to have shrunk in size since she left, his presence filling every corner.

“Your majesty.” She quickly dropped to a curtsy, holding the book against her chest.

He turned to regard her, a sly grin on his face.

“My my. You do that very well. I wonder what other positions you can hold?”

Sylbie felt her cheeks colour at his implications, not daring to lift her head to meet his eyes.

“Come here,” he beckoned her with a single finger.

She obeyed.

“Pet, is this all the clothes you have?”

Did he not know? Was he not the one who decided her wardrobe?

“These were here when I arrived.”

“You will need new ones. But for now,” he traced her collarbone, voice low and sultry, “These will have to do.”

A hand went under her chin, making her hold his gaze. She was torn between the desire to look away and to obey the king and maintain contact.

“Forseti tells me you have been spending a lot of time in your room?”

“Yes master,” she spoke softly, trying to ignore his thumb brushing over her lips.

“But you went to the library today?”

“Yes master.”

“Good, good. And what is this?” He took the book from her, the grip on it had loosened in the few seconds he had come close, “You like poetry do you?”

Sylbie nodded, the tiniest movement of her head.

“Sylubelle,” he stepped away and led her to sit on the sofa, “Read to me.”

So she did, trying to speak in a clear and steady voice, despite the king’s attentions on her.

He started with subtle grazes up and down her side, fingers skimming her ribs, and just barely on the underside of her breasts. And then, the ghost of a touch on her knee, fingertips dragging up her thigh, but stopping just short of her centre. When he held her breasts firmly in his hands, pinching the nipple between his finger and thumb, Sylbie paused in her recital, fixated on his touch.

“I didn’t say you could stop Pet,” he chided, his hot breath on her ear.

Sylbie swallowed and continued, even when his fingers continued their journey up her thighs, pressing down on her heat through her underclothes. She managed to keep her cool, but when his fingers slipped underneath the fabric and stroked her wetness she lost her composure, letting out a breathy moan.

“I do not believe that was part of the poem,” he said, and moved her so that she was sitting in his lap.

She tried again to pick up where she left off, but the sweet torture continued, more ardently this time, stil, she struggled through the words. And then he slipped a finger inside her and the book fell from her hands.

“Are you going to come?

Face flushed, she nodded, and still his fingers worked her through the first wave until she hit a second peak, reaching a higher crescendo than the first. The room spun around her and Sylbie was sure she would have fallen onto the floor if he was not holding her so tightly.

“Such a good girl,” he crooned, soothing her as the last ebbs of pleasure dissipated. Again, his praise set off flutters in her chest. How could he make her feel like that with just words? Surely his seidr was truly powerful.

He slid her off his lap, and guided her to undo the fastenings of his trousers. She rested her hands on his thighs as she took him in her mouth, deep, as he liked it. He tutted and took her hands, holding them behind her back. Sylbie shivered at the restraint. This way she found it harder to control how far he went into her mouth, and when his free hand went to her hair to hold her there she almost choked upon him, tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, remember what I told you. Breathe. Relax your throat.” She tried hard to comply with his teachings, remembering all he had told her from his sessions before. With his utterings of praise she was able to get through it, and soon enough there was the tell-tale twitching of his length.

Soon.

When he released, his grip loosened, and she chanced a glance up at him, his eyes closed, head back, expression boneless. She wielded such power over the king.

Then the moment passed and he lifted her head, his limp staff falling from her mouth. She swallowed him down and his fingers reached to trace her chin in a gentle caress.

“Good girl.”

Next he was by her door, clothing immaculate, fully composed, no signs of their tussle. Looking so much like a king. What a silly thing for her to think, that she had any such power. No, everything here was his. Her rooms, her clothes, her food. Even her body was not her own. And when he eventually took her it would only be what he was owed.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Darlings
> 
> Oh so much love for this story, thank you! I hope you don't expect me to update regularly now. But I will do what I can!
> 
> I hope you're enjoying this, as I said before this is my first time writing anything so explicit, and yes I am dragging it out.
> 
> Your thoughts would be appreciated.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings,  
First of all I want to apologise.  
I noticed several mistakes in previous chapters, they should be fixed now. My fault for typing things very late on my phone! I got the names mixed up for the maids - so to be clear, Lucy is the first one, the quieter one, and the more lively one is her sister, Amy.  
Hope that clears things up, please enjoy!

The afternoon passed slowly.

When Lucy arrived with lunch Sylbie was still lying languidly on the couch, recovering from the after effects of the king’s attentions. The young maid gave no comment as to her appearance, which she was grateful for.

She picked at the salad, freshened herself up in the bathroom, and spent a while gazing out the window at the gardens below. She attempted to read some more of the poetry, but she could take in barely more than a line before she thought of the king’s touch and his affect on her, so she hastily put it down.

Dinner was served with succulent roast beef and potatoes, and a small flagon of wine.

Oh.

Sylbie eyed the jug warily but did not touch it. If it was to be tonight she wanted to be aware of herself as they committed the act. She yet owned her own mind at least. 

But as the evening wore on her nerves got the better of her and she downed a glass as Ginevra was running the bath. Well, why shouldn’t she enjoy herself? There was after all, that small part of her mind that was excited to see the king again. Excitement at how he could make her feel. And Forseti was right, he hadn’t been unkind, not really.

It wasn’t as if she could say no.

The nightgown she wore seemed to be made of spun gold that glowed in the light. Yet the sheerness of the material almost made her feel like a puff of air could send her floating away. The robe she wore on top was another one of thick silk, dark and decorated with serpents twisting around vines and mauve carnations. She fastened the sash tight around her, as if it would serve as any protection from the serpent that wrapped itself around her soul.

This time, he led her to his bedroom. It was as grand as the rest of his rooms, the same tones of dark wood, black and silver as his other room, and with touches of green throughout. 

Sylbie turned her gaze to the fire, crackling in the hearth, watching the flames flicker and sway.

“Sylubelle.”

She turned obediently at the sound of her name.  
  
He was smiling at her. It made something flutter in her chest. Maybe it would not be so bad after all.

Then he was in front of her, untying the carefully tightened knot on her gown, and slipping it over her shoulders. Sylbie trembled, partly in fear, partly in desire.

He pressed his hand against her cheek, gently caressing the skin with his thumb.

“Shh pet,” he said softly, “It will feel good.”

Sylbie nodded in spite of herself, and smiled up at him. Maybe she could pretend that they were lovers on their wedding night after a happy courtship, and—

And then he slipped the straps from her shoulders, the nightdress falling in a pool at her feet and she was naked before him.

Instinctively, she crossed her arms in front to cover herself, but he took her wrists and moved her limbs to her side,

“No.”

His fingertips danced upon the milky-white skin of her stomach, moving lower to the apex of her thighs, and pressing there firmly for just a second.

She shuddered.

“You are gorgeous pet, you know that?” 

She bowed her head demurely,

“Thank you master.”

“Will you go to the bed?”

This was it. No going back now.

Sylbie wasn’t quite sure what to do, so she simply lay atop the covers waiting for him, watching him as he undressed. She had half expected him to use his seidr to remove the clothes all at once, but was there something about watching him unfasten every button and tie that added to the tension, her heartbeat quickening, throbbing against her chest.

She had never seen him truly naked before and when he was straddling her (it seemed that he was barely nude before he was right there on the bed with her), her breath hitched. Tales were often told of the good physique of his brother, Prince Thor. But the king was a vision of sculpted marble. And she could feel him, so close. She shifted her legs to accommodate him and tentatively pressed her fingers against his chest.

His fingers played with her folds and stroked that spot just above, sending ripples throughout her body. A finger slipped inside, scraping at her walls.

“Shh,” his mouth was at her ear, “You’re still too tense. Relax, pet.”

Sylbie tried to comply, willing her body to loosen up.

His teeth grazed her ear and then his lips attached to her neck, suckling upon that erogenous zone and she gasped, feeling herself wetting.

She did want this. It was an honour. 

And when he used his other hand to play with her nipples, she became further aroused. He slipped another finger inside, easier this time. He twisted them inside her in a circular motion, starting that fire and she instinctively bucked her hips against him.

He withdrew.

She whined at the loss. How dare he. What cruel torture was this?

“Ehe pet. Almost there. Now,” his hand under her chin brought her gaze back to his eyes, “Are you ready? Will you give yourself to me?”

She nodded.

I need to hear you say the words pet.

“Yes, I’m ready.”

He smiled,

“Good.”

Next she felt him pushing inside, her body stretching to accommodate him. It felt snug, but it wasn’t as painful as she feared. He paused, and seemed to consider. A beat passed. She wasn’t sure if she should push against him, or what she should do, so she just lay there.

A sharp pinch like someone had taken a knife to her insides. Hot tears stinging at her eyes. Fisting the blankets beneath her, fingers bed into her palms to try and take the pain away. 

“Shh shh,” he cupped her face, “Relax pet. It will feel good soon.”

She could only take him at his word. As he moved inside her, thrusting back and forth, the pain gave away to a dull ache. It wasn’t terrible, no worse than the treatment she was used to. But had told her it would feel good. And she was foolish enough to believe him.

She wanted to cry out in frustration. It would be over soon, so she should just deal with it and forget about his false promises. 

Idiot! He owes you nothing.

His fingers stroked her nub, and there it was. The heat, the fire that coursed through her body. It was just a tiny flame at the moment. She wanted more. She deserved more. Sylbie pushed against him, trying to meet his thrusts, wrapping her arms around him to hold him tight.

“Such a good girl, such a good pet for your king.”

It only added fuel to the flames. Again his words! How was he doing that? He must have laced them with his seidr, Silvertongue. 

Silvertongue indeed. His mouth was at her breasts, sucking at the teat, teeth grazing, biting, and it was painful, but it wasn’t, but it was, but it—

It felt good.

She was gasping then, hooking her legs around him to feel him closer. He kissed butterflies up her chest and to her neck. He stopped to look down at her, his eyes mesmerising pools, darkened with lust. 

The world stopped. It was just her and the king, their bodies locked together, that tightening coil becoming closer and closer to being wound too far.  
  
“Say my name.”

Sylbie hesitated in confusion, her brain addled with arousal.

“Say my name.”

Then she knew what he meant.

“Loki,” she said softly. His thrusts were becoming more erratic, hurried. The taut string pulled even tighter, on the verge of breaking.

“Say. My. Name.”

“Loki.”

The thread snapped and Sylbie shook as the waves of her orgasm washed over her, throwing her head back and screaming,

“Loki!”

He gave one last thrust before he emptied inside her, saying her name in a husky whisper.

All was still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides face in embarrassment*
> 
> Welp, there it is.
> 
> As I said I'm not used to writing things like this so...
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, wow! 
> 
> And also I'll be disappearing for a while again, sorry! I need to update my other fic and also write something for a competition for a dress-up game app.
> 
> My tastes are eccentric and varied and I need to share my writing with more of the world. Today, one fic, tomorrow, the world!
> 
> Blessings to you all
> 
> -Ladle


End file.
